


life isn’t the price of milk these days

by Iridescenceofthewind



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Gen, Team Dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-06
Updated: 2019-04-06
Packaged: 2020-01-05 16:44:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18370034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iridescenceofthewind/pseuds/Iridescenceofthewind
Summary: Putting a group of people with interesting track records and pasts can lead to interesting results of certain proportions. There's food, relationship issues, an explosion, more food, yelling, a guide on what to do when you realize somebody isn't actually dead, more explosions, and learning how to take deaths with a grain of salt.akaThe one in which Thor can't find his Pop-Tarts, Tony blows something up again, it's discovered Clint has an ex-wife (who also blows some things up), Bruce has performance issues, and Steve and Natasha showcase what not to do pertaining to the subject of communicating feelings.





	life isn’t the price of milk these days

**Author's Note:**

> I've talked about wanting to finish more of my uncompleted documents and post more, so what better way to hit you all with the weight of a semi-truck through this effing long story lol. But it's finished, and if I go over this again, I'm pretty sure I'll explode in a fit of combustion and delete it entirely. 
> 
> Some bits in this are taken from and inspired directly by the lovely author irnan's story, there's trees in the desert since you moved out, which is one of my all-time favorite stories, and one that I highly recommend you all go and read.

Natasha has only lived in a house with other people two times in her life.

Not that she ever really takes the time to care or notice.

She doesn't remember her first home, a fact she doesn't know if she should contribute to being too young, or another side effect from having her mind be implanted with shambolic memories and her solid ones screwed with. Maybe it's a bit of both. Either way, it's like a beloved toy from babyhood, but you can never truly remember it, even though it's just one of those known facts in the back of your head. But maybe it's better that way. She knows she's once wondered fleetingly before if she'd rather not remember _any_ of her past, but the thought dissipated within seconds. She doesn't have time for _what ifs_ , and while it is something that may have once bothered her, it was a long time ago, and certain things are better left untouched.

Then there was a second home, which wasn't really a home. A secluded facility, with other girls like her, fighting for their lives and jobs with obsessed leaders who didn't bat an eye when the reports came of how many girls died that day, and how many more were recruited. Unlike a home where you could say you went home for family dinners or had a cozy warm bed, the Red Room was the place where you studied the human anatomy for skilled knowledge on how to kill a person and fight to the death just to save your own life. It was the place that shaped her.

And after that, it was just safe houses, deserted homes, and apartments under names like _Antelina Marovano_ which consisted of her residence.

She's never been the kind for setting roots and staying in one place.

Which is why it's a little perplexing—even to her—that she's been living in the same place for the past year.

It's still a little weird, but when has that ever stopped her? (Or any of them for that matter.)

They're all living in a billionaire's tower, together, like some convoluted reality TV family, but with an amped up array of freakily talented and abnormal people instead. The thought isn't a bad one, the ratings on a documentary of their somewhat domestic life would go through the roof, she's sure. Along with making Fury roll in his empty grave.

It's humongous and sheek, yet eccentric, which isn't surprising because it's _Tony Stark_ (however, she knows Pepper had serious input on decoration, which she's thankful for). The size had been something that was a little different compared to her previously smaller sized places she had been used to accommodating before, but she's been pretty good at adapting. The free-for-all weapons room and gigantic swimming pool are added bonuses that she tries out generously—not to mention frequently—because she should show her gratefulness for free rent and food.

There's always something though, and the fact in itself that statistically, the average family has their own problems and shit in their own household, doesn't mean they stray far from _problems and shit._

She's willing to bet the average family doesn't consist of people with breathtakingly scary rage issues, high-intellect and multiple personality defects, serum that makes you look like a god and fight like a cemented wall that came to life as Bolo Yueng on steroids, the life of an actual god, an uncanny ability to aim pointy things and an affinity for Raisin Bran flavored cereal milk, or a history of being a trained assassin who doesn't know how to go somewhere without at least two knives and a gun.

Taking that into consideration—the interesting states of their pysches and neuroses and other things excluded—problems and shit are more strange for them. They elicit more of a _whattheactualfuck_ , than the usual roll of the eyes in exasperation that you see estranged cousins do from the other side of the world.

Thank God all their relatives are dead.

 

•••

 

"Mr. Barton is currently...in a precarious position on the seventeenth floor," J.A.R.V.I.S. answers the question for Steve, who's been waiting ever so patiently on the archer so he could start team training, his face painted in a disapproving look that makes Tony want to salute.

"He's stuck in a vent, isn't he?"

There's a pause. "Yes, Ms. Romanoff."

"I'll go get the butter."

"Make sure it's not the Bordier. The only rumps that French heaven will be touching are my roasts," Tony says to the retreating Bruce.

 

•••

 

"Hmm, maybe somebody should lay off the muffins?"

"How about _you_ lay off, Stark," Clint's voice echoes through the vents.

"Hard to take you seriously while Bruce is slathering butter on your ass."

"That butt cream sure helped your rash."

"NAT!"

"You should've taken a before and after photo." Tony's shoveling popcorn into his mouth, none too pleased to put off training, even if it means a more hardcore session with Rogers later. (Although his legs will disagree with him afterwards). Scratch that. Make it his whole body.

"I most certainly did." Because seriously, what kind of friend and person would she be if she hadn't?

"I'm going to kill you for that, Nat! Once I get out of here."

Tony plows on, ignoring Clint, "What's your bargain?"

Her arms are crossed as she watches the smooth and greasy butter glide on Clint's very pale butt. He always burns so easily. "Imported batch of Kara-Kums and teas," she says. And she's glad that's her choice, because it's been absolutely forever it seems since she's last tasted those delicious little crunchy chocolate bars. The tea was extra.

"Deal. And I get full rights to my copy of the photo."

"And I get a box full of both." She nods, he nods, it's business at its finest.

Clint makes a sound of frustration, and his butt muscles clench.

 

•••

 

She sometimes goes on random drives.

She'll strap on her things, pick up her keys to her corvette, and hit the open roads.

(Well, whatever you call open roads in New York.)

It's only at certain times, when she feels like she needs to get out of the tower for a bit, get out of her head, clear her mind. She never really goes anywhere in particular, sometimes not even bothering to stop. Simply driving until she feels like going back or until she runs out of gas because she's too lazy to actually fill her tank up when she's supposed to.

She's learned the roads and places to go where it's less swarmed with cars, once she gets out of the initial busily pervaded crowds and traffic, away from the tower. It's anything but inconspicuous, because that's not exactly Stark's M.O., and people like to make trips to stop and ogle it whenever they get the chance, including drivers going on by, which isn't conducive for others who don't care about the bigger than life building smackdab in the city. The less interaction and chances of argument with crabby New York drivers, the better for her and anybody involved.

It's the day after a particularly annoying mission, that she hits the button in the elevator for a bottom level, instead of going to cool off in the gym.

She's now down in the expansive garage, going for her corvette—while passing by Stark's extortionate amount and types cars, which he proclaims he must have, never mind owning a high-tech suit that can fly him to Japan if he wants—when she hears the elevator ding.

She immediately tenses, but she relaxes within a second once she hears the steady footsteps hit the ground.

"What are you doing down here?"

And he stops, not necessarily surprised, but she guesses he must have been in deep enough thoughts not to be on guard like he normally is, because his face registers a hint of question.

"I should be asking you the same thing."

She barely smirks, leaning on one of the Ferraris, which she's sure would made Stark yelp like a madman if he were near eyesight. "But you didn't. I asked first."

There's enough silence at first that she wonders if he isn't going to talk at all. "I...wanted to clear my head a bit. Go out for a ride."

He seems a little solemn and serious, and if she hasn't known him for so long now, she'd wonder if it's just him being professional. But that's not the case, and her days of trying to decide whether Steve's being open or guarded with her has dwindled considerably. "Funny thing. Guess we had similar thoughts in mind." She doesn't feel the need to make up an excuse to him as to why she's going out at almost eight at night.

He pauses again. "Wanna join me?"

Now she's slightly surprised that he doesn't ask her why she was planning on a late night excursion, but she knows she really shouldn't be. Steve never pushes her, as far as her personal thoughts and inner demons went. He has a weird sense of just _being_ there that made you want to share yourself with him.

That sometimes makes it even worse.

She contemplates her answer, trying to decide if she wants the company or be alone with her own thoughts. "Sure." She goes for casual.

He smiles, and she tries not to think too much about it.

 

•••

 

"Listen—aw, aren't you two cute—I'm gonna be gone for bit, so don't bother trying to get ahold of me unless for an emergency," Clint strides right on over while slurping his Cup Noodles with all the grace of a flopping walrus.

"So do you know where they went—"

Natasha interrupts Tony before he can finish. "Where you going?" she asks, her head off of Steve's shoulder.

He shakes his head. "Can't tell yet. But let's just say, a little tip off from somebody and I'm needed for some infiltration. Should only be for a few days or so."

That _somebody_ isn't as unobtrusive as it should probably be, but no one comments on it.

"Just watch your ass."

"Will do."

"Stay safe, Clint," Steve says, both in friendship and in leadership.

"Yes, Captain," Clint's attempt at a military voice fails miserably due to a noodle getting stuck in his throat.

"I sincerely hope you carry out your mission better than you eat, Barton."

His "screw you" doesn't sound as insulting while he hacks up the little offensive noodle.

Tony ignores him. "Are we going to get back to the movie or what?"

"What are you watching?"

"The lovely journey of Rocky, and his unrealistic and sickening winnings of bloody fame," Tony mocks, waving the remote around.

"Stark's just jealous because his boxing is crap."

"My crap is amazing."

"That doesn't sound right," Steve tells him, while Clint snorts.

"You learned your crap from Happy. He's clearly qualified to be in the next MMA championships."

Tony opens his mouth a couple of times, but nothing comes. "Fine."

"So which one is it? 'Cause if it's the fifth one, I won't judge you. That one _is_ actual crap."

Steve turns his head to Clint, who took a seat to their right in the comfy sofa chair, still chowing down on the forty-seven cent instant lunch. "There's a fifth one?"

"Watch it there, buddy, no messes on my furniture."

Clint waves Tony off.

"Yeah, there are six, but truthfully, the last ones aren't as great as the first two," Natasha answers for him.

"Don't expect me to watch those with you," Tony says.

"Good, because nobody was going to invite you."

Steve stifles a laugh while leaning back comfortably, arm snug against Natasha's.

Clint openly snorts again.

"I swear, you guys have no manners…" Tony mutters.

 

•••

 

Bruce Banner lives his life on two wavelengths.

There's the Banner who drinks his favorite chamomile tea (which Tony, very nicely, ships from Japan for him), reads textbooks of all kinds, loves science, and secretly relishes a bubble bath with scented candles in his large, private bathroom every now and then. He has a mellow voice of reason, (most of the time) and takes great lengths at keeping his cool and patience in check.

Then there's the Banner who turns into the big green monster, who likes to smash, likes to cause damage and wreak havoc whenever possible, and hardly ever listens to the voice of reason. He's the hidden side of Banner (define hidden), but mainly, it's the side he likes to keep in check and out of the way.

There was certainly a time he had hated the other side. Loathed it, and himself.

But, he managed, and he's still managing.

It's hard, to live a life making sure your emotions and heart rate don't veer out of its normal pace. It's like those awful snake-in-a-can things, just waiting to spring out on someone with awaited suspense.

He always hated those things as a kid.

And it helps that his teammates (friends, _family_?) actually accept his issues, his predicament, better than he had ever thought they would or could.

It's probably because they all have issues of their own.

But he won't go into that. He plays the therapist enough for them.

Anyway, he has a problem of his own.

"Tony?"

"'Sup, buddy. Wanna help me out here?"

"Uhh, listen, I actually kinda came down here for your advice. Or help. Both probably."

"Wow, my help and advice. Can't wait to rub this in Rhodey's face." He runs to the other side of the room, behind what is eloquently dubbed as, "the huge microwave." He's pushing on something, while mockingly muttering, "Says I can't give helpful advice, and no one comes to ask because of my—"

"Tony?"

"Uh, yes?"

"I really need your attention for this. If I could."

Tony Stark can be a huge arrogant asshole, along with many other things, but he has his good moments too, and Bruce likes the guy.

"Please don't tell me you're leaving for a sabbatical or something," Tony rolls his eyes, coming around to sit in his chair.

It's his veiled way of asking if something was seriously wrong. Tony's not the one for the Caring Mother act. "No, no. Umm, it has something to do with the Other Guy."

Tony leans back, legs spread and back slightly slouched. Just the way he likes it. "Gonna go on, or is this like a relationship crisis thing where I need a pint of cookie dough ice cream?"

He sighs. "No."

"Dum-E, bring the chair."

"Thanks," he mumbles, taking his seat. "Look, so you know that Betty and I have been...getting closer. Again. And uh, we had gotten even closer a couple of nights ago."

Tony urges him on with a gesture. "Yeah, yeah, you guys banged. Go on."

Well, if he hasn't ever heard of a better opening. "No, that's the thing."

Tony quirks an eyebrow, stopping his incessant rolling on his chair. "Performance issues?"

He colors slightly.

"Not uncommon. One out of five—"

"Okay, okay, don't need statistics here. But that's not exactly the problem."

He notably gestures again. "C'mon, you gotta give me something here. Girl talk is easier than this."

Bruce sighs. "We were about to do it, but we couldn't. I started to feel...twinges...you know...hulking out—so I stopped." _God, this is freakin' embarrassing._

And Tony just stares at him, hand on the side of his cheek and elbow on the table. "Wow. So I guess this means you haven't had sex since before Doc Green came into the picture."

"Tony…"

"Yeah, okay, I get the picture. So, I mean it makes sense. Your emotions and heart rate increase during those times, and I'm sure that's why you started to have—twinges."

"Well, but I mean, how do I stop that? I'm a great guy at controlling it most of the time, but...I don't wanna have that happen during our...you know. I don't wanna hurt her."

"Hmm, I wonder though how Greenie would be in the sack, he has quite the—"

"Tony!"

"Hey, you can't help but wonder. But you wouldn't remember it anyways, so what's the point if it's a mind-blowingly savage, monstrous—"

"I'm leaving."

"No, no, wait. I'll stop, I'll stop. I can control myself for the sake of you."

He gives him a look dubiety, but sits down cautiously again. "One more word about the Hulk's sex..talen—whatever you wanna call it, I'm going."

"Okay, don't worry. I'll just think about it. So you want my help with how to control your twinges?"

"Well, give me something. I've been thinking of solutions all morning."

"Hm...did you consider bumping up your—"

"Yeah, too risky. Could drop me into a state of euphoria that's—"

"Yeah, so no on that. What about doing it while—"

"We are so not going to do something you attempted doing while drunk on a Hulk statue."

"Okay, okay. That's probably wise. Maybe if we looked into some counter-sedatives that wouldn't affect—

"Just do it."

Both of their heads snap up.

"Excuse me?"

"You need to just do it. Have sex."

"You heard our conversation?" Bruce questions meekly.

She has the decency to look sincerely apologetic. "I'm sorry, Bruce. I couldn't help but overhear."

"And then continue to eavesdrop. For five minutes."

Pepper sends Tony a stern look, before turning back to Bruce. "You need to just go for it. Excuse me for this, but you just need to stick it right in and do it."

Bruce looks like he doesn't know whether to be absolutely appalled or intrigued.

"Honey, not to contradict you or anything, but the whole issue is him transforming into the Big Guy while having sex. Because of his heart rate and adrenaline."

"Not to contradict _you,_ sweetie, but studies show, a lot of the rise in blood pressure and heart rate is due to the anticipation and desire that builds up before, but once you actually do it, your bodies produce oxytocin, endorphin, and serotonin, which might counteract your increasing heart rate before you hulk out. Which is why I suggest no foreplay before, at least to be on the safe side. And keep it pretty calm, if possible."

"I've never found you more attractive."

"Shut up."

"Actually, that was quite," he clears his throat, "informative, Pepper. I don't know why I didn't take those thoughts into consideration. But I will have to look into it further and I guess I'll...have to discuss it with Betty too. Thanks, Tony for ah, listening and stuff, and Pepper, for, you know...offering your thoughts." He stands up and nods at them both before beelining out the doors.

"You totally embarrassed the guy," Tony tells her, once Bruce is out of earshot.

"I know, and I feel bad. But I also feel bad for his predicament. Poor guy."

"So tell me, how come you knew all that information so well?" He places his hands on her waist, and he feels a sense of gratitude for whoever invented pencil skirts.

"Article on the effects sex can have on your heart."

"Mm, kinky," he mumbles into her blouse.

"Tony, why are there so many boxes of—" there's a beeping sound.

"Oh shit!"

"Tony, what—"

…

"TONY!"

"That wasn't supposed to happen. I forgot to time it when Bruce came down."

Her face tells him he's going to be in the same boat as Bruce tonight.

•••

"That was Tony. Probably did something stupid again in the lab."

"Figured."

"You wanna head out?"

"Sure," she replies as she grabs the offered jacket.

"I know a place where we can grab some food."

 

•••

 

Steve likes diners.

Something about the atmosphere, the old fashioned decor, and the food.

It's the first place he'd gone out to eat (along with being the first place to discover what inflation was) after coming out of his temporary extinction in frozen captivity.

It's a little diner, just outside of Brooklyn, tucked away alongside the highway, a place he discovered when he had gone touring through his home city with sadness and bittersweet memories of almost ninety years old.

He never tells any of the others about it, or that this is where he usually is at certain times when he's gone. He doesn't feel comfortable sharing it, at least not yet. It's one of those things that he likes to keep to himself.

However; he does make an exception.

"I feel like I'm going to gain weight if we keep eating here so frequently."

"Bye bye bikinis," he comments dryly.

"Bye bye mission suit," she plays along, a hint of a smirk, and it's her sass and bubblegum all over again. "You're a lucky bastard, you get to eat with a stomach that is a bottomless pit, and you don't gain an ounce."

"Sorry," he mumbles and shrugs around a mouthful of fries.

"Sorry my ass," she laughs..

"So, heard anything from Clint?"

"Nah. He's probably doing fine though, he didn't seem too worried."

"Hands off my fries. You should've gotten some of your own," he playfully swats her hand away. "He should be fine. You-know-what hasn't been too active, according to Hill, since they've been taking care of the bigger underground logistics ."

She chews on a fry thoughtfully. "They never seem to quit though, do they?" It's not really a question though.

"I think they'll always be out there," he says, voice low with seriousness. Considering their survival and burrowing parasitic spreadability, they'll be around till the end of time. But that sounds supremely depressing, so he doesn't say that.

And she hates it. Hates them and what they do, their never ending businesses and agendas, just like the KGB. But Steve knew them even in his first life, then to discover it still existed all the years later, hidden inside the agency he believed and trusted in. That would be a hard pill to swallow for anybody.

"You ready for dessert?" he says, saving another conversation about HYDRA for later.

 

•••

 

"Hello? Is anybody here?" bellows out the Asgardian, heavy footsteps accompanying his resonating voice.

He doesn't receive an answer in return.

"Uh, J.A.R.V.I.S?"

"Yes, Mr. Odinson?"

"Ah, hello! Um, is there anybody occupying the Tower at this moment?"

"Yes, there is. Shall I let them know you're here?"

"That would be lovely! Thank you very much, J.A.R.V.I.S!"

"Of course."

•••

"You should ask her out."

The fork pauses midway enroute to his mouth. "I don't think so."

"You're so predictable," she rolls her eyes, playing with the salt shaker, white flakes dusting her pale hand.

"Then you shouldn't have suggested it."

"What is it with you? I know you're not shy, contrary to popular belief."

He snorts at that. "It's easier when people think that."

"Ah, but since I don't, there's no easy in this situation."

"You're not an easy person in general," he grins.

"I take that as a compliment."

"You should."

The salt on her tongue is sour, and she finds it befitting that what he's eating is sweet.

•••

"Pepper, have the Pop-Tarts been moved to another location? Because I'm having difficulty locating them."

"That's an issue you should probably take up with Tony. He's downstairs in the lab."

He smiles pleasantly at her and nods. "Thank you."

 

•••

 

"So, what exactly is with you and apple pie?" she asks him as he finishes off the remaining bites.

And she can see the moment that his answer is going to be a somewhat more nostalgic one, his eyes on her, but distant. "My ma...she used to make it for me on special occasions, or after I had a real bad asthma attack, when she could afford it. She'd serve it to me nice and hot out of the oven." He smiles wistfully. "And the leftovers, she'd give them to me and Bucky, after school, and we'd scarf it down immediately, even though she would make comments about how it would ruin our dinner."

She feels a tug at her heart, hearing about Steve and his childhood years with his mom and best friend, the one who's still out in the wind, who she knows plagues Steve's nightmares.

Another thing contrary to popular belief, is the fact that Steve is a very open person.

The thing is; he appears open, like he's telling you everything, but she'd learned after a little that he's very deliberate with what he says and reveals, and it's only the smaller things, superficial. He plays his cards almost as close to his chest as she does. Scenes and times from his old life hardly ever come into the conversation, and if they ever do, it's brief and rushed. She likes to believe he talks with her about it more than anybody else, but maybe it's wishful thinking on her part.

It's hard to get a read on him, truthfully. He still isn't a good liar, but he has a thing for keeping his personal things private. And she has no room to talk, if her mountain high lump of a past is anything to go by.

She just wishes she could get a handle on him a little better.

So she's pleased that he once again is showing his trust in her to tell her of a time from his younger years. Even if she knows she doesn't deserve it.

"That's a good reason to like apple pie."

 

•••

 

"WHAT?"

"Look, Big Guy, I didn't know you were planning on coming by, and it was an honest accident here, they weren't even supposed to explode," Tony offers as an explanation, hands up in defense. "You know, I should totally address this. Who know those things were so flammable?"

"No, we do not need you in a battle with Kellogg right now," Bruce interjects from the other side of the lab, helping with the cleanup.

"Please, hardly a battle, I would crush them."

"I would crush you right now for touching my supplies and depleting me if you weren't my friend. You shall go out right now and restock it for me," Thor informs him, the normally jovial god glaring with a look that could only be described as "thunderous" (Tony stifles a laugh at the awful pun, he figures Thor wouldn't take too kindly to that either).

"Oh, I see how it is. Here I thought you came to visit for my delightful company, but nooo, it's just for your precious Pop-Tarts."

"I'll put Mjölnir on your car."

"Okay, yeah, going," he says, hands up. "Stupid Clint and Natasha should've never taught you the art of pranks."

"Speaking of which, where are the others?" Thor asks as he probes a half-filled tube that had fallen over during the mini explosion.

"Clint's on a mission, and Natasha and Steve are...somewhere in the city," Bruce responds.

"Hmm, interesting," Tony comments.

"What?"

"Oh, just the fact that they're gone again together, for the fourth time this week." He turns his nose up in distaste, looking down to swipe off the gooey glob on the bottom of his tank. "God, I need I shower, this stuff reeks."

Bruce makes a thoughtful noise.

"I still am waiting for my Pop-Tarts."

"Right, on that," Tony replies quickly, heading for the glass doors. "Gods can be so spoiled…"

 

•••

 

"C'mon, let me drive."

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes."

He's leveling a look at her, and she's meeting him with one of her own, eye for eye.

Their stubborn asses could be here for hours, and they know it. "Please?"

He blinks, his nonplussed face a total act. "Huh, didn't know you had manners."

"Asshole."

He cocks an eyebrow. "Flattery will get you nowhere."

"Pretty please?"

"Oh, you down to begging now, Romanoff?"

She scowls darkly at him.

"That's not going to work either," his face is cracking a smile, and it makes her even more irritated at him. "You can drive it next time. Promise."

She pretends to deliberately consider it, but her mind is already made up.

If she tightens her arms around his waist, it is only because she wants to make sure she's safely sturdy behind him (fun fact: Captain America is sort of a speed junky on highways).

And if he smiles when she tightens her arms, it was only because he was just really happy.

 

•••

 

If someone were to ask him how his day is going, he'd tell them that it's going just fine.

His day had consisted of some extra secretive undercover and infiltration work, and so when his performing of being a super trained assassin went to the wayside, his performance started to go more along the lines of an "Oh-shit-my-name-is-Clint-Barton-and-I-hate-you-all" kind of job. Which is what lead to where he's at now, sitting in a rotting chair that creaked with each of his movements and made his ass ache like crazy, in an old abandoned warehouse, in the middle of God knows where, while getting whacked in the face by his ex-wife.

Peachy days.

Honestly, he's not too bothered by the getting whacked thing, but more upset about his bruised ego in undercover business. Right now though, he just needs some water or something, because his throat is dry as sandpaper, the blood not being much of a soothing helper. But the guy on the phone doesn't sound like he's so congenial to allow him such a glorious reprieve.

"Quit fucking around, Morse, finish it!" the voice orders out of the phone.

It sounds eerily familiar, but he's already received several blows to the head, so he really can't rely too soundly on his mind at the moment.

"Shut the fuck up! You're nuts. You know he's reporting back to somebody directly, and I'm sure his little teammates know he's out on a mission and will come like whipped ponies once word gets out," she spits.

"We don't have time to play around with the dumbass archer, you need to finish this," he snarls back through the line, a hand slamming down onto what sounds like a hard surface.

"I'm not going to act out an impulsive order from you just because you hate the guy's guts for beating the shit out of you in that fitness competition."

_Ah, so he used to be a S.H.I.E.L.D agent._

"Must not have been that great of a competition then," Clint smiles, blood staining his teeth.

"Don't you know it." Her grin is ferrel as she hits him again.

"Morse, finish the damn job! Last orders, they're from the boss!" he's growling.

She makes a sound of disgust. "Fine, but if this ends up biting us in the ass, I'll know who to lay blame on. Give me five minutes with the shit," She turns the phone off, stopping the protesting response from the voice on the other end. She places her hands on her sides, resting on each of her gun handles, her steely stare never wavering off of him. "Come on out, you two."

The pair both reluctantly step out of the shadows of the rusty sliding doors, grim expressions. "Rumlow said he wanted us to keep an eye on you and make sure you finished in a timely manner," Murdock tells her, face tight.

She sighs, rolling her eyes dramatically. "Never can be trusted, huh?"

The sound of the two bodies hitting the cold concrete is louder than the actual bullets.

"They probably were wired, so we've gotta move fast." She cuts the ropes with quick and effortless movements, and drapes his arm over her neck to give some support.

"I got it," he strains out from the feeling of muscles stretching and the stiffness of his knees. He feels a rush of dizziness, but it subsides. He's pretty sure he only has a couple of bruised ribs and a minor concussion, then of course the other areas, but nothing he can't deal with. "I knew his voice was familiar. That cocky bastard still has a thing for me…" Clint clicks his tongue, but regrets it once he feels the sting and taste of blood.

"Don't bring your cockiness into the game right now. Or at least wait until we get outta here," she adds, twisting behind Clint's body to throw a mini grenade into the room that he had been receiving his beating, before they start to run as far and fast as they can, he more along the lines of being dragged.

They flinch slightly at the loud noise it makes, her pace not slowing as she turns a corner and makes a beeline for the stairs. She's grateful that they used the second floor and hadn't been up on one of the higher ones. That would've been a bigger pain in the ass.

They're heading for the doors on the first floor now, passing by several obsolete pieces of rusted factory equipment and buckets, and if they weren't running from explosions, they would've noticed the grody leaking water that was coming from the dusty pipes, falling onto their heads.

They open the heavy doors with a loud creak, stepping out into fresher air just before Bobbi rotates one last time to throw the last bomb, yanking Clint even further away to avoid any extra casualties for the night. He straightens up, while his shoulder pops. "Please tell me we have a way of backup or rescue. Because I kinda didn't have the time to call for mine."

She makes an exasperated noise that he's all too familiar with. "You're an idiot, Barton."

"It's why you divorced me," he grins.

She shrugs. "Since I knew my cover was blown, I contacted my emergency backup. But _you_ , get to explain to Fury why my cover was blown."

"Fury's dead," he says automatically, waving her off, looking at the flames and burning remains of the factory. Everything smells like ash, antiseptic, and mold. His sweat and blood probably contributed to the unpleasant odor.

"Fine, go to his grave with flowers and a letter of apology. He liked petunias. C'mon, we gotta get moving."

They make a dash for the van that the two (now dead) HYDRA agents left, which thankfully, Bobbi had saved the keys to.

She climbs into the driver's seat, while Clint hauls his sore body into the back, panting like a dog in Atlanta heat. He needs water. He spots a stash of bottles underneath the seat as he crawls on the floorboard and nearly collapses, part in relief and exhaustion. _Hallelujah._

Bobbi's busy smashing things and turning levers on and off on some kind of equipments in the passenger's seat before she turns around and addresses him. "Give me the water bottles."

"What?" he whimpers, clutching one of them like it's his lifeline. At this moment, it sorta feels like it is.

"The tops are trackers too, we can't risk it. We gotta chuck them. You can keep one, just take off the top so I can throw it out with the others."

"Stupid ass backup, but waterbottle cap trackers? Where are their priorities," Clint shakes his head as he hands her the dark blue bottle cap, before gulping down the water faster than should be considered humanly possible.

"Yeah, well the stupid backup and agents they have are the ones we used to cover for. They're even bigger dumbasses when they go around chanting, 'Hail HYDRA'," he practically can _feel_ her eyes roll.

He tries to regulate his breathing, his lungs feeling like they belong to an ninety-year-old who tried to run a marathon. "You were one of those dumbasses for a while," he croaks out.

"And I wanted to slice my throat each time I said it," she replies with aplomb, revving the engine up before tossing the last gun out the window as far as her strength would allow her (she has amazingly strong arms).

"So," he coughs, "what's the news?"

"Not much really." She rolls her shoulders, feeling a slight kink in her neck. "I got a handful list of names and locations, but if you want any success—which isn't really much—the Furry Nickel will have to act fast. They're already re-building, and unless we get higher up in the food chain, we aren't going to do much damage. Pierce was probably the highest one in the States, but…"

"You think there are more in other countries," he finishes.

"There are new bosses, and my gut feeling says they're willing to sacrifice the remains of HYDRA that's left in the States to help expand and rebuild their other networks in other places."

"Damn. Okay." He closes his eyes and feels a wave of dizziness pass over him. Stupid potholes. "Guess HYDRA couldn't fix you being shitty driver."

"Insulting your ex who saved your fumbling ass is a sure way to say thank you," she shoots back. "Your manners are always impeccable."

He sighs, rubbing his eyes, mindful of the cut above his eyebrow. It seems to have stopped bleeding, thankfully. "Thanks. Really. I'm glad you're here." He pauses. "And it may be the injuries and the dizziness talking, but...I missed you."

There's a long silence, and he thinks that's all he's gonna get. "We're heading to my safehouse, backup will arrive there tomorrow morning."

"M'kay."

"You gotta stay with me, Clint. Until we get there."

"I'll try."

"You will."

"Always so certain. One of my favorite things about you."

She laughs, and he swears it sounds regretful.

But then again, his head still aches like a bitch.

 

•••

 

"Ah, so the two lovebirds are back I see."

"Where were you at?"

"I'll only tell if you tell me where you two were at."

"Touché."

Natasha says, "Why the hell do you smell like a burnt corn dog?"

 

•••

 

Clint somehow makes it and is currently staring up at the disgusting cream colored popcorn ceiling from his position on a rock solid bed in a dingy old apartment.

He knows he somehow managed to stumble out of the car on his own and make his way to the front of the building, but the stupid place has stairs, something he despised greatly while climbing.

He got some help from Bobbi, but it was definitely no easy feat, considering she was also carrying his gear (which—bless her heart—she saved).

And now he's wondering who the hell thought to make the walls such a revolting green, when she comes back from the bathroom, first aid kit at the ready.

When she's hovering a little over his face, hand on his chin while wiping away the drying blood above his eye, she speaks again. "Romanoff doing okay?"

He smiles lazily. "Quite dandy I think. She puts up with our crap like a pro."

"Who better for it," she says, with humor.

He feels like his eyelids weigh a ton, and it's definitely more of a struggle than normal to keep them up. "You should join us."

She stops her movements, arching an eyebrow. "The Avengers?"

He hums, because he does not feel like nodding at all.

She chuckles, now placing the butterfly bandage atop his injury, "You guys are pretty tight. And I don't really like Stark."

"He grows on you," he's quick to reply, but then his eyes do open further. "Don't ever tell anyone I said that."

"Don't worry, I'll add it to my list of blackmail against you. It won't see the light of day unless it's a dire situation."

"Got my own list too, y'know," he grumbles. "Just remember the offer, cause I'm not sure I will later," he's half joking, because seriously, this whole state of euphoria was reminding him of a bad night on the town when he had gotten a staph infection from a contaminated drug needle in the back of an alley.

"Thanks, I will. But tell Romanoff I said hi," her voice is soothing, and he finally feels himself succumbing to a state of sleep.

"Of course," he slurs.

He's out like a light once she's finished cleaning and bandaging, not budging out of the position he had fallen in to.

She leans over, kissing him on the forehead, before draping the knitted blanket over his form, old from usage and washings, but still doing the duty of providing warmth and comfort.

"And for the record, I missed you too," she whispers, fingers on the doorknob.

 

•••

 

 

She's gone the next morning (he isn't all that surprised) leaving a post-it note that says _Until next time. Don't die out there, okay? - Bobbi_

Translating the last part went something along the lines of: "I love you, you big idiot."

His body feels like he fell from a building. He's pretty sure he threw his left shoulder out, which doesn't sound too exciting as far as shooting went. He's had worse, but it isn't exactly the body he planned on coming out with when he initially signed up for the mission.

He also hadn't planned on seeing her.

He isn't complaining too much about that though.

He's finishing his soggy cereal and milk, going over his thoughts in his head, everything a little scattered, bruised, and disorganized, trying to sort things out when there is a knock on the door.

He figures it's the backup she mentioned, but nonetheless, he grabs his bow and arrow.

He almost releases the arrow in shock.

"Crap, I didn't know I was rescuing you!" Coulson says, running his fingers through his hair.

"I'd deck you right now if I had the energy."

 

•••

 

It's way past midnight, but they're both wide awake on his couch in his living room, watching _I Love Lucy_.

Well, at least, he is.

Natasha seems to be about ready to slip into a state of comatose in her spot beside him, which she vehemently denies when he tries to tell her it's time for bed.

She's nodding off again, her head hitting his shoulder.

"You're going to get whiplash if you keep doing that."

She sits up straighter, crossing her arms like a petulant child, and it makes him grin even further. She nudges him in annoyance, refusing to look at him, eyes glued to Ricky on the screen.

"I will go to sleep when I want."

"Of course you will," he says, but his amusement isn't contained.

"Do not condescend me, Rogers."

"I would never." He knows she knows he really wouldn't and didn't, because if he really did, he'd have his spine ripped out.

They continue in silence as they watch the revealing of a monstrous seven-layer Devil's food cake and the events that unfold thereafter.

"You know, I'm pretty sure these are basically the results you'd get if Clint and Tony were to cook in the kitchen," Natasha says.

Steve's laughing already at the image, and he can see it all too vividly. "That would be awful. Pepper would have a heart attack, and then kill Tony and suspend all of Clint's bows right after."

"No, she'd kill Clint too, especially after the Ramen incident."

He's lucky that doesn't spur him on into a laughing fit right there, because that situation is still fresh in all their minds, and the topic comes up often in conversations and teasings about Clint pretty often.

"Only you and Bruce cook well enough to be allowed into the kitchen without supervision."

"You too. You're not a bad cook yourself."

She shoos the compliment off. "When it comes to instant meals and box cake mixes. I mean, yeah, I'm nowhere near as horrendously awful and disastrous as those two idiots are, but I don't make as good of a cherry crumble as you do."

He beams at her. "I'll make you your very own if you want."

She definitely looks pleased at the offer, because seriously, it is _delicious._ "Of course I _want._ "

"I can do it tomorrow. If you admit you're actually tired and need to go to sleep," he's teasing her, knowing what he'll receive in return.

She's glaring at him now, even if she has to tilt her chin up just a bit because of his damn stupid height. His eyes are twinkling, and she considers smacking him. "I will _not_."

He's shaking his head in entertainment at her refusal, returning his gaze back to the show, knowing she'll keep her unrelenting stance on her state of tiredness, even if her eyes say otherwise.

And about halfway through another episode, he feels the soft thud of a head hitting his shoulder, and he smiles to himself. She doesn't wake this time, her breathing remaining soft and even beside his cheek.

He finishes off the remaining minutes of the episode, even if he honestly hasn't been paying attention in the first place. He grabs the remote on his side, turns off the TV with a soft click, and carefully extracts himself before placing one arm ever so carefully under her legs and the other behind her back. Her head rests against his chest, and he's already heading straight to his bedroom, her room out of the question for practical reasons.

He's glad they opted for comfy clothes today, because otherwise, he'd feel bad for letting her go to sleep in uncomfortable clothing. As it is, her soft black yoga pants and oversized t-shirt (that he's fairly certain once was his) seems cozy enough to pass for one night of sleep.

He sets her weapons carefully on the nightstand beside her, in front of the clock to make sure they're visible and within reach for her if need be, turns off the lamp, and goes to the other side of the bed. He slips in quietly, keeping a good respectable amount of space in between them.

He spends a few minutes staring up at the ceiling.

"You forgot one," she informs him as he hears her shift under the covers, rolling onto her right side.

He turns to face her, the distance between them diminished. "Nah, just know you like the comfort of sleeping with one on hand."

A smile ghosts over her lips, which he can see the outlines of in the dark. "Well, since you're here, I think my comfort level is okay to go without it for tonight." She sets the small but deadly blade next beside the others.

He could think of all the meanings and implications in that one sentence, but he's content to just smile in return and set his thoughts aside for later. "Goodnight, Natasha."

"Goodnight, Steve."

He falls asleep pretty quickly after, the picture of crimson red hair and emerald green eyes a beautiful portrait in his mind.

He needs his sleep after all. He has a cherry crumble to make tomorrow.

 

•••

 

He wakes up to her staring at him.

Sometime during the night, they had gravitated to each other, and now they were practically nose-to-nose, his hand on the curve of her waist and her hand on his chest. He's a bit surprised she hasn't tried to move out of their more... _intimate_ position, but she's always surprising him.

"Hi," he says, and it's rough with sleep. He really hopes he doesn't have horrible morning breath.

"Hi." And it's weird, because with that one word, she sounds so incredibly not like herself, yet it's totally _her_ at the same time.

"You sleep okay?"

She nods, and a strand of hair falls to the side of her face, which he unconsciously tucks behind her ear. "You snore."

He knows he doesn't thanks to the serum, but he doesn't offer an objection. "You drool."

She has a look of indignation, and she seems so young to him then, hair slightly rumpled and curling, face fresh with sleep and no makeup. He knows it's a look she doesn't show often, if ever, and he feels like he's a blessed man to be allowed the privy to such a sight.

"I do not."

And before he can respond, J.A.R.V.I.S is speaking. "Mr. Barton is back and would like to see everyone in the main lounge area." Steve doesn't know if he's imagining it himself, but he swears the AI's voice sounds reluctant to speak at all.

She moves first, and the loss of her warmth is immediately noticeable and disappointing, but he's following pursuit, shoving back the covers. He glances at the side table. "Crap, why is it so late?"

She's combing through her hair with her fingers as she responds, "Your fault for being so nice to sleep with!"

 

•••

 

They're both aware their appearances are definitely not as orderly as they normally are, but to be fair, they just woke up.

" _Finally_ , geez, we were going to come grab you guys ourselves. You couldn't have tried to make it look like you both didn't sleep together?"

They probably really should've made a better effort at that, because their whole look agrees thoroughly with Tony's assumption.

"Nat fell asleep on my couch last night."

And even though she maintains the fact that Steve is a bad liar, it doesn't mean the man doesn't ever do a lie of omission.

"Still doesn't explain why your clothes look like they're from yesterday," Clint says as he passes by them, bag in hand.

"Don't know why you're judging other people's clothes when you look like shit yourself," Natasha smoothly diverts, going to take a seat on the gray sectional.

"Wow, thanks. No 'Oh, Clint, you're finally back! Are you okay? How was the mission? Is your—'" Natasha's handful of chips make it impressively into his mouth hole almost entirely, save for a lone chip, which falls unheeded onto the carpet.

"Clint, nobody can ask you questions when your mouth is so full," Steve says dryly.

His face looks like a pissed off chipmunk.

Tony takes the time to snap a photo for reference.

"Oh, thank you," he grabs the potato crisp that was catapulted to him in irritation by their sharpshooter in residence, popping it into his mouth with a flourish. " _Eww,_ God no," he gags. "Seriously, salt and vinegar? What the hell is wrong with you?"

Clint takes deliberate effort to crunch a little louder.

"Is it just me, or is Thor always eating when we have talks?" Bruce says jokingly, trying to avoid having Clint spit his mouthful out at somebody in impulsive vexation.

"Because you always have such tasty things," Thor cheerfully says, opening up another package of Pop-Tarts, remnants of other ones at his feet.

"Better enjoy those, Blondie," Stark says into his glass with a menacing glare aimed at Thor.

"I'm not even gonna ask," Natasha says.

"Good choice," Bruce said, taking a sip of tea.

"So I take it this meeting has something to do with your mission?"

"Yeah, it does," he dusts off his hands and wipes them on his pants, a habit which Natasha always gets onto him for. "While most of the remaining HYDRA agents and bases are smaller and localized here in the States, it looks like they're rebuilding around in other countries, with new bosses higher up in the links."

There were muttered curses from everybody.

"We got orders to go out and take care of a base down in Cleveland tomorrow. Right now, Fury just wants us to do cleanup duty right now. Take names, kick ass, that sorta thing. He's got a good list of people and locations for us."

They aren't too happy with the less than appealing news about HYDRA's existence, but the proffer of the mission to Cleveland doesn't sound too shabby to them. They happen to get a bit action-hungry when they had little to do, leading to things like exploding Pop-Tarts and the like.

"Well done, Clint. You got us some information to go by so we aren't completely in the dark," Steve's leader mode is on, and Natasha can see his brain already working a mile a minute.

Clint huffs in response.

 

•••

 

"What are you doing?" Bruce asks as he comes into the lab and sees that Tony's once again up to something.

"Uh, I'm trying to figure a way to get Pepper on my good side again. She still isn't too happy about the whole lab mess from before, which doesn't help with the throw up in her heels she still hates me for," he complains, and swipes away whatever was up above the table, leaning against it, arms crossed. "So, I'm guessing this is another thing about Betty and you're not here to help me woo back Pepper?"

He nods sheepishly. "Although I can offer you some advice for your Pepper situation."

"You can give it to me in a minute. Lay it on me."

"I talked with Betty, and she's willing to go through with it to see if Pepper's right." He shoves his hands into his slacks as he sways on the balls of his feet. "I don't want to take any chances, so I wanted to ask if you could have a bed put in the Hulk containment room that we could use. Just an act of caution so if it does fail…" he shrugs. "You know."

Tony claps him on his back and grins. "Of cours. Anything for a science bro."

He looks like a huge weight has been taken off the shoulder, and he exhales. "Thanks, Tony. And about that advice…"

 

•••

 

"So you're telling me nothing, absolutely _nothing_ , is going on between you and Rogers?"

"Nothing."

"I call bullshit."

"Call it whatever you want. But there's nothing between us. We're just partners."

He smirks around a bite of cream cheese and bagel. " _Partners_ can mean the opposite of nothing. The word has many meanings."

She frowns and brings her cappuccino to her lips, reluctant to take the first sip and ruin the artsy design some barista took the time to make. "Yeah, and I'm taking only one meaning. Friends though, if you must."

"Friends who flirt then."

She blinks. "We _flirt_?"

"Umm, yes."

Now she's oddly annoyed with herself. She knows that there was some somewhat friendly flirty banter and jokes between them at the beginning, reminding her of herself and Clint's type of friendship—well, maybe not exactly like their friendship—but...it had the same ease and comfort.

The thing is, she does certain types of weird flirting with all of them, when she thinks about it. It's a natural thing for her. But there's differences with all the guys she's done and does it with. With Clint, it airs on the side of rough repartee, seasoned with familiarity, age, and comfort. With Tony, it's rude comments and crude sayings to the other, a love/hate kinda thing that's spurred on by the fact that their beginnings are based on the fact that she was sent to spy on him with another persona (who flirted differently too). With Bruce, she likes to tease him for his mediation style and weirdly endearing quirks (this all being when he isn't raging monster).

She never really thought of a category for Steve, and that probably should've been her first warning. And if Clint is calling it actual flirting, it most likely is, because he always teases her for her styles with them, and the fact that she always seems to come up with a new one each time she meets a new guy.

So the question is...

When exactly had it become _flirting_?

And has Steve noticed?

"Shit." Her cappuccino is still left untouched.

She's half expecting Clint to mock her and brag about his wisdom, but she's met with a sympathetic look that makes her feel even worse. "Aw, Nat. You'll be fine. I'm pretty sure it isn't just you. He's making a cherry crumble! Steve's a great guy, but I'm pretty sure he's not going through the trouble for Tony," He picks up his coffee, which is his normal black with nothing else, a fact she still says makes him crazy. Why go to a coffee shop to buy friggin' bitter coffee? "Just don't go making me your relationship counselor. I'm awful with that shit." It's a good thing the cafe is pretty full with afternoon rush hour, or else their less than classy cursing would be more noticeable and frowned upon.

She laughs, thankful that he knows to give her time and space with the topic. "Better than Tony. He'll teach you the secret on how he made himself seem desirable among any woman and give you advice on how to achieve it for yourself. At least you've been married."

He nods, pursing his lips. "And divorced." He pauses, deliberating on whether he wants his coffee or bagel. "Speaking of which, Agent 19 says hi."

Her eyebrows raise a fraction. "Now that's worth some talking about. I'm guessing this was on the mission, unless you just happened to bump into her while grocery shopping for your pimple cream."

"Ha ha hur, yes it was on the mission. She had to break her cover and was the one who actually had the information for us." He realizes he never actually said thank you for that.

"Wow, your own ex-wife manages to outshine you on your own mission and save your ass. That's...that's amazing!" She's laughing hard now.

His frown is immediate, teeth already secured in bagel and something along the lines of "I never needed my ass saved" coming out of his mouth distortedly.

"Oh _please,_ if you're telling me Morse broke her cover just to pop on over to you and say hi, then I call bullshit," she's smirking.

He pointedly ignores her, continuing to munch on his mid afternoon snack.

She, however, doesn't think Clint needs anymore time and space with this subject. "How was it? Seeing her."

He shrugs, picking at his brown napkins with his one hand, other tapping the edge of the dark brown table. "Interesting. Truth be told, painful at first."

She opens her mouth, but he cuts her off.

"She's the reason my face looks like crap. Double agent, remember," he grins though, like he's proud.

"Lucky her. I'm sure she's glad she finally got to get it out of her system."

"Hey!" He kicks her underneath the table. "But she really did save my ass, even if she gave my a face a run for its handsome money. If it weren't for her, I'd probably've come back later and worse for wear."

"You two were always saving each other's backs. You guys make good partners."

"We aren't partners anymore." God, he doesn't mean to sound so sulky.

It's her turn for the reassuring smile. "I wasn't talking about that kind. The word has several different meanings."

 

•••

 

"Betty, are you sure you're okay going through with this?"

"I'm one-hundred percent absolutely okay with this. I just want to make sure you're okay with this. If it makes you uncomfortable, we don't have to do it." She squeezes his hand, her gray eyes comforting.

He shakes his head. "I love you. And I want to show you I love you."

She pushes him onto his back gently, the mattress a pretty damn nice one, which he needs to remember to thank Tony once again for. She places her hands on the sides of his face, her hair a curtain for them both. "I adore you," she whispers, thumb caressing his cheek. "And if this doesn't go as planned...I'll still love and adore you, and know that you feel the same way about me too."

That sentence in itself is enough to calm his heart.

 

 

•••

 

"This tastes like heaven," she says around a bite, her eyes almost rolling into the back of her head. He seriously has some talents.

"Heaven, huh. Guess it is pretty good then."

"Hell yeah. I've never been more thankful for having a fridge in my room, because there is no way the guys are getting their hands on this."

He chuckles as he wipes down the counter tops. "Well, you shouldn't have to worry about Tony. He asked me to make him a crumble, with the offer of no insulting nicknames or complaining during training for two weeks. He even provided the fruit for me." Is

"Wow, two weeks, now that's impressive." What's also impressive is how small her serving in her bowl is becoming. And concerning.

"I'm pretty certain it's for Pepper, since it's peach. I think he's planning on some sort of special date with her tonight because he was asking Thor to make a trip to Asgard for some lotion, bribing him with all the flavors Pop-Tarts has," he mentions to her, folding the dishrag into a precisely neat square.

"Yup, he's definitely going all out." Speaking of _out…_

He hands her the entire dishpan. "I wish he would've told me why he wanted it. I wouldn't have let him bribe me for it."

She blows on her spoonful, the aroma drifting up and making her impatient. "Don't feel bad, Captain Righteous. It's worth having a bit less of an annoying version of Tony Stark for two weeks."

He rolls his eyes at her, leaning against the sink. "Not if you're going to call me names like that."

"I'll keep it to a minimum, don't worry. I should be somewhat nice to you, since you did make me this entire thing for myself." She licks her spoon for emphasis.

"Exactly. I don't know why I don't cook more. It seems to make everyone act a lot more nice to me in general," he says wryly.

She points to him with her spoon, like the idea just came to her. "You need to showcase your cooking skills more. The ladies would love you even more for that."

"Because I need more ladies fawning over me out in public," is his deadpan answer.

"No, you just need _one_ lady. We need to get you back out on the dating scene. I've been slacking." It's a fact she's definitely aware of, and she likes to believe it's because he doesn't seem so lonely anymore.

And after thinking about her previous conversation with Clint, she's pretty sure she's got this all figured out.

So maybe she and Steve _do_ flirt, just a little. But, that doesn't mean it's anything to act upon. Being partners during the fall of your whole basis of living and trust leads to well built bond overtime, and she thinks that they both are well matched. Maybe she does go a little harder with him, but it's only because he's fun to do it with. His dry humor bodes well with her style, but winding him up can sometimes be super hard or super easy. And maybe the fact that they're both attractive, single people, who have high-risk jobs, makes them tease the other a bit more.

So maybe if she makes it where only _one_ of them is single, then it won't seem so much like flirting, and more like...good friends with a solid friendship.

No, even that doesn't sound right.

Though it's not like Steve has shown any actual interest in her. Then again, it's not like Steve's very forward with women overall, or else she wouldn't be his personal matchmaker. But she's a spy, so she's pretty sure she's not that oblivious to not know if a guy is interested in her.

"No, Nat, I've been perfectly fine, and in _peace_. I don't need you to be my fairy godmother again."

"Nice reference. In peace, exactly. Enough where you have time to actually scout around and date. There's plenty of gals at Stark Industries who'd love to jump your bones."

He sighs and goes to the fridge. "I'm aware. That's why I prefer to avoid the IT department at all costs." He smells the inside of the jug before pouring two glasses of milk.

"Did you ever call that nurse?"

He slides the glass over to her, carefully. "Not a nurse, and yes, I actually did. But she's too busy and it just wouldn't work out."

"Huh. Well, I'll give you points for trying."

She suggests names from memory, to which he repudiates with simple "no's" after each offer.

There's a little voice in the back of her head that sounds eerily like Clint, which tells her that she's not going to get any approvals from Steve when her enthusiasm is on par with Kristen Stewart's.

 

•••

 

They're preparing for their little excursion to Cleveland, and it's _probably_ not the best day for this mission to be taking place.

Tony and Bruce are in joyous moods, so much so, that the others begin to wonder what the actual fuck happened to them both in the course of one night.

Sex happens.

But that's not the case for the other four, who you probably could say were sexually oppressed, and less than happy about it.

Steve seems to be in complete leader mode already, but his face is already set like stone, ready to sink further into frown lines when called upon. Maybe it's lack of sleep or something (highly doubtful, considering the serum), but he doesn't look exactly tranquil. He's definitely all seriousness and mission-ready, and maybe it's the fact they're having to deal with HYDRA that's making him seem more grave.

Natasha seems twitchy, and her walk in itself isn't as assertive as normal. She's not distracted (because distraction is something she does not like for herself), but she's definitely not fully with them in this moment, and it's like she's almost having an internal debate within.

Clint's in one of his moods where something set him off for it. He's either twirling and fiddling with his arrows, or he's looking out the window and mouthing words to himself. He's where he seems completely distracted, but in reality, he's entirely _too_ focused. Natasha would most likely know the reason why (if she isn't so busy being _not_ distracted) if she takes the time to notice the appearance of a gold band out of his pocket every now and then.

Even Thor is not his jubilant self after finding out that Jane isn't going to be able to visit him for another two weeks, something pressing at work coming up.

And overall, this doesn't lead to much troubles in the beginning, but later, things go a little...differently.

How are they supposed to know there's going to be some dude with glowing yellow eyes and the ability to create earthquakes by stomping?

None of them have the powers of a psychic!

This is what leads to where they are now; Steve and Natasha are trying to keep the weird guy from the others so they can continue to kick HYDRA's ass in peace, which is working, because the guy is now charging at them on one of the lower levels of an old abandoned underground hospital building along the outskirts of a tiny town.

Clint is somewhere on the same floor, taking care of any leftovers for them, while Bruce is busy on the very bottom level, roaring and crushing equipment, from what they can hear. Tony is on one of the top levels, trying to fight off whoever and whatever is in his way while trying to think of a solution for the weird guy. Thor is...somewhere. Steve's not sure anymore.

Steve and Natasha are heading towards the elevators, losing their weird guy in the confusing maze of office rooms for a few minutes. They barely make it in before they see him storming towards them once again, and the next thing they know, half of the corridor ceiling is collapsed, leaving them neatly trapped.

"They must have hit the Fridge already," Natasha's muttering under her breath, but Steve picks up on it.

"The what?"

"Uh," she's reloading her gun, "S.H.I.E.L.D.'s detainment facility for people with superpowers."

Everyone on the comms is granted the favor of hearing a couple minutes of Steve's impressively wide-ranged and inventive vocabulary. She hears Tony swear breathlessly in amazement.

"See, this is why I hate secret organizations! I had no clue, and it's been what, over three years? Fuck!"

"It was a hard topic to bring up, since you kinda have superpowers yourself. And your reaction is pretty predictable, without all the colorful cursing." The elevator wasn't moving.

"God, seriously, Nat? Do you need to be anymore pointlessly flippant?" The next thing they know, the elevator is shuddering with an awful noise, sending them both toppling into a corner, Steve bracing himself instinctively with his hands against the wall, arms above Natasha.

"Only if I want to," she tells him, eyes locked on his. He's pretty when he is angry, and there's no point in denying it. His eyes are a fiery blue, swirling with emotions she can't all name in this moment. The position is a reminiscent of another time, in another hospital, and the coincidence is not lost on her.

Steve closes his eyes briefly when the elevator shaft stutters again, and this time, she has to grip onto Steve's arms if she wants to stay upright. "You know, you're no clean slate guy either. For example, you said you called Sharon, but you didn't. You blatantly lied."

His eyes shoot open. "How did you know?"

"I didn't. Was bluffing, but it's not surprising."

Now he's all worked up again, and she's pretty sure it has something to do with the adrenaline because if this were another time, he wouldn't be so tightly wound. She sure is. "We're in this situation, and that's what you want to talk about?"

"Fine, we can talk about why you won't let me set you up with anybody. I thought we had this conversation already."

But he misinterprets her meaning completely for some reason. "I trust you. And that's mainly what's pissing me off right now."

Suddenly, that makes her furious. "Right! Because God forbid I don't fall on my knees and tell you all my secrets like all your little—"

"I never said anything about your secrets! Have I ever? No. Keep all your damn secrets. I don't care! I don't! God, you can be so _frustrating_ —"

"Oh, really! That's just perfect coming from you, you entitled priggish ass!" She hits him on his chest with both heels of her hands, but of course, Steve's as moveable granite. "You strut around so smug like you're this old wise compass who believes he needs to be in everybody's life, including mine—"

"Including yours? If I recall, _you're_ the one who's Ms. Know-It-All, who thinks she has everybody's life and ideals written on a cue card to direct them with, while she doesn't know what exactly to do with her own life!"

If she weren't so in angry, she'd have taken the time to be horrified at how accurate he is.

"Well, how am I supposed to know your life and ideals when you're so closed off! You preach trust, but you won't even talk about your own life!"

"Now that's just _rich_ coming from you, you hypocrite! You're so confusing! One minute you're one person, and the next, you're another!"

"The biggest hypocrite here is _you_! Honesty my _fucking ass_!"

"Oh, I can give you honesty! Maybe the reason _why_ I say no to every single person —"

"Ah, but not EVERY single person! Because oh, who can forget the woman who I've only mentioned to you, like _a thousand times_!" She throws her hands up. "WHY HAVEN'T YOU CALLED SHARON?" she bellows, because somehow, the question has been forefront in her mind ever since the beginning of whatever the fuck they're doing.

"BECAUSE I DON'T WANT TO!"

"And why _the hell_ not? I thought you did, I _thought_ you were gonna—"

"Well, you know what? SO DID I. But then, I thought, 'Steve, buddy, is this really the time to settle for second-best when things look like they are maybe finally starting to _change—_ '"

"SECOND-BEST!"

Steve looks like he's about to rip his hair out strand-by-strand in frustration. "Yeah, because you spent almost an entire two years trying to set me up with EVERY SINGLE S.H.I.E.L.D. agent under the sun, and then I FINALLY get peace for a little while! Think maybe things are _different._ But _no_ , you suddenly decide it's time to search the earth again for anybody who isn't the _ACTUAL PERSON I WANNA GO OUT WITH_!"

"You think I do it for my _health?_ If you'd just OPEN UP for once and actually tell me who it is, _MAYBE THEN YOU'D ACTUALLY BE IN PEACE_!"

Steve's mouth is hanging open, and suddenly, he feels like everything makes more sense. "Oh my god, you're worse at this than I am."

Natasha feels as if she's lost all feeling in her jaw as it drops like dead weight. But her sense of feeling is remedied within a minute when Natasha's finding herself being kissed almost violently. It takes a second—okay, _maybe_ three—for her brain to short circuit, reboot, and get with the program. But once that's done, she's all in, fingers gripping his hair, wrapping around him like a vise and meeting him with all the same passion and fervor.

It's an extremely effective way to vent out frustrations.

They're not sure how long that continues when they're interrupted by a voice through the comms.

"I...don't know what to say."

"How about, 'Hey, did you forget we _all_ had comms and could hear every single thing?'" Tony says, and he's panting.

Natasha unwraps her legs from Steve's waist. "Sorry," he grunts, and she's eyeing his crotch with a cheshire grin. He's thanking God that the others only could hear them and not see them.

"Look, I'm super glad you guys got that out of your system, but...we sorta need your help upstairs," Clint says, and it sounds like he's running on something metal.

"Uh, yeah. It's just that...we're stuck in the elevator."

"Oh, c'mon!" Tony groans. "Hold on, I'll come get you guys. You both better not be naked."

"Only in your dreams, Stark," she responds, but she feels flushed.

 

•••

 

Everything is finally taken care of, and they're waiting outside for supposed extraction for their weird guy, something that Clint figured out for them.

"I feel like this is a day for shawarma," Tony says.

"I feel like this is a day where I need to reevaluate my life choices," Clint says, scrubbing a rough hand over his face. His shooting was pretty crap today due to his still sore shoulder, but he got to get rough hand-to-hand which helped air out some of his frustrations.

Steve does a lot of drumming with his fingers on his shield—which he's already cleaned three times now in boredom—Natasha keeps twirling her pistols with her pinkies, and Thor's whistling some cherry Asgardian tune while tossing his hammer between hands.

And Bruce is…

Bruce is buck naked under a fluffy blanket, and is leaning against Thor's side for support.

They all look impressive and pathetic at once.

Time passes by pretty quickly, and they see a plane beginning to land not far from them. It's a good sized one, but it seems to be landing smoothly without too much hubbub.

"Clint, who exactly is this guy's pickup?" Steve had gotten some vague and rushed explanations from him at first, which he excused since they were a little preoccupied with HYDRA agents at that moment, but now he's feeling more wary and curious as to whom they were handing off this potentially extremely dangerous person to.

"Don't worry, Cap. It's someone we know."

Indeed it is.

" _Coulson_?" They all exclaim in unison, except for Clint.

"Shit! Barton, you didn't tell me the entire team was here!"

"Is dying not a thing anymore?" Tony says, faceplate up, his look of astonishment clear to see.

Steve is swearing like a sailor again (Natasha's pretty sure that hearing him curse after today will never be a surprise for any of them), Thor looks upset, almost _angry_ , and Bruce at first looks so confused, most likely believing his eyes were deceiving him, until he's smiling and shaking his head in disbelief.

Then Natasha punches Coulson in the face, and the noise picks back up, more people are coming out of the plane, and Steve's arm is gently restraining her.

"Clint, how the hell did you know about this?" Natasha's eyes are flashing at him, and Clint's afraid she'll go over there and hit him too if it isn't for the insistent arm around her waist.

"I only just found out when he was Bobbi's backup, I swear! And I would've punched him too, I just didn't have the energy."

"Thanks."

"Hey, you're supposed to be dead," Clint shoots back, and remembers again why he felt so angry the first time.

"Good thing he's not, huh?"

"Morse," he says, and walks right past Coulson.

"How is it possible you are alive? I saw you die!" Thor looks like he's about to protest the fact that ladybugs aren't actually ladies.

"Yeah, I'd like to know the same thing," Tony says.

"I owe you some card signings," Steve says, and he shakes his hand.

 

•••

 

They've already gone for shawarma and cleaned themselves up when they're pausing midway through their movie for the night. No one's really that invested into it, but no one bothers to complain, happy to be in each other's company for the rest of the evening.

Natasha and Clint are the ones in the kitchen, she, taking the duty of making another batch of popcorn, while he pulls out more pretzels.

"You seem in a better mood. I take it that seeing a certain blonde had something to do with that?" She quirks an eyebrow.

"Maybe something." He grins. "She's riding with Coulson and his team for now, so she says she'll stop on by when she gets the chance."

"He better not be around when the time comes because I'm pretty sure that second life will go to waste," she threatens.

He sighs and sets the bag on the table for a second. "I know it's upsetting to realize he's really alive, Nat."

"Yeah, which you seem to be surprisingly calm about."

"I wasn't calm when I found out. I'm still not completely calm about it. The guy was stabbed in the _heart._ But you gotta realize, it wasn't something he could go around telling everyone."

"Yeah, of course. So I guess we're everyone while his new team isn't."

He plays with the discarded piece of plastic and thinks for a moment. "I'm not gonna pretend I don't understand how you feel because I do. I've always thought—even when I believed he was actually dead—what it would be like if he were still around. But then it wouldn't be the same. Coulson dying then did give us the boost that we needed, whether we like to acknowledge that or not."

"I know it did. And I'm okay with how things turned out." _It's the fact that his team knew before us_ goes unspoken. "I guess it's just something I need to think about, you know."

"And I'm here for you if you need me," he pops a pretzel into his mouth and winks, but she knows that he's willing to be her listening and supportive best friend if she needs.

"I know," she can't help but return with a grin. "So I see Morse left you another parting gift," she gestures to his left hand, where a mockingbird ring resides on his finger.

Clint's not exactly a blusher, just mostly when it comes to things regarding his manhood and manliness. But she finds it absolutely hilarious when a blush blossoms across his cheeks, and she finds that the subject of Bobbi Morse must come up more often hereafter.

"Yeah, I finally got to give her that arrow necklace too. Figured it was something until we see each other next time."

"God, you sound like a schoolgirl who just scheduled her first date!" she teases him and, _oh yes_ , Bobbi morse was going to be a household name if she has anything to do with it.

He huffs mightily, moving to grab himself another beer from the fridge. "Says the one who actually is a girl that needs to schedule her first date. Speaking of…" he nudges her with his bottle as he passes on by. The rat bastard.

"Hey."

She looks up, and smiles and _God_ , maybe Clint's right, because she feels like a schoolgirl talking to her crush suddenly. "Hi."

She's not the only one though, because he's shifting on his feet nervously. "Do you want any help?"

"Nah, I think I'm pretty good now with popping popcorn in the microwave that I can manage on my own."

He laughs and it sounds even more delightful to her ears than normal. "Touché."

"This doesn't need to be any more awkward than it is," she says as she steps towards him, locking eyes with him. "I liked what we did in the elevator. A lot. And I was wondering if you want to do it again sometime, minus the yelling. Initially."

She's being forward, but there's a tinge of awkwardness and shyness in her eyes, and it's comforting for him. "Whenever you're ready, Romanoff."

She grins.

 

•••

 

Natasha has learned several things now, so far over the course of her stay in Avengers Tower.

First, always have butter (that includes Tony's special butter, because that stuff is _damn_ silky and delicious) and Pop-Tarts on hand. They're both extremely detrimental to smooth living. Second off, don't assume that your leftovers are safe in the main kitchen, even if your name is marked on it, with black marker and decked out to the nines. Because basically the rule with that fridge is every man for himself. And men can be animals. But so can she.

She's learned others things too, and it's a variety of things, some that may come in handy down the road if she's ever in an odd place, but most of it is stuff that's only key knowledge for living with them without losing her complete sanity (whatever's left of it). And she admits, she's no saint. But would it kill Clint to _not_ forget to label which jug is his grossly appalling collection of cereal milk and which is the actual milk? Steve ended up having to remake a whole new batch of macaroni and cheese that day, and she just about chucked a wooden spoon at Clint's head. Fortunately for him, Steve, being the nice guy and good friend, threatened that there would be no cheesy deliciousness if there had to be an impromptu trip to the emergency room that day, so she wisely chose to settle for later revenge (and it was glorious).

But it's things like remembering to not touch Tony's collection of sunglasses on display (but he demands you admire it each time you walk by the glass encasement), taking turns watering the plants (domesticity at its finest), and making sure you don't cancel any of Clint's cartoon recordings that he watches religiously every Sunday, like it's his version of church.

It's weird and unconventional as hell, but they didn't expect any less. And even if they grate on each others' nerves almost constantly, it's not enough where they have to use their acquired skills to have to kill the other person. But that probably would be drastic measures.

And she's not sure she could even bring herself to do such a thing now.

She's still learning, even if she's knowledgeable in eight different languages and knows how to kill a man with her pinky in a scary amount of different ways. And so here are a couple of things she does learn; she actually likes when Tony forces them to participate in his stupid games, even if she complains all the way to the end. As a person who's always preferred fighting solo and being on her own, she enjoys protecting the work with them. She isn't that opposed to cuddling, if it's with an extremely warm and comfortable six-foot two super soldier. And maybe, just maybe, she really can do the whole relationship thing.

Life's a lot of things, different things to different people in this world and the next. It may be something that is extended for others, it may be something that comes as a second chance, or it maybe be something that is used as a deep cover while cruising on a boat across the Mediterranean.

But whatever it is for whomever, the value is something that's not as negotiable. Maybe it's not something she's ever realized because before, she was always focused on _how_ to take away as much life as possible, no matter what. But it's different now, for her. These days, people may think they have all the nuances and intricacies of life worked out, but she's seen firsthand that life can be so much more than the glance of worth it is generally given. Prices can rise in the age of knowledge, but significance can lower in the face of repetition and abundance.

And they live a dangerous life. The work, the jobs they do, it's always something they've known.

But it may be the thing that makes you realize all the good times. Makes you value your life and the people that surround it that much more.

Life is a funny thing, but so are they.


End file.
